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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28260279">Yet chased by a whisper, a sigh, a breath</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat'>blackkat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:07:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,909</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28260279</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s easy to find a Zabrak in the snow, Jon thinks. Or, more specifically, it’s easy to find <i>this</i> Zabrak anywhere snow happens to fall.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jon Antilles/Agen Kolar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>509</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Star Wars Secret Santa 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Yet chased by a whisper, a sigh, a breath</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherFleur/gifts">CherFleur</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For Cher, for the Star Wars Secret Santa!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s easy to find a Zabrak in the snow, Jon thinks. Or, more specifically, it’s easy to find <em>this</em> Zabrak anywhere snow happens to fall.</p><p>The silence in the midwinter wood is a light, crisp thing, muffling any potential sound as Jon slips closer through the tall silver trunks. The leaves above are golden, heart-shaped, wider than both of Jon's hands splayed, and in the light snowfall it’s easy to predict the dip of them, the way they tip down and spill their burden of snow to the ground with a soft thump. Dodging the clumps of falling snow is a light and easy challenge, a game more than anything, and Jon doesn’t often indulge in such things, but this—</p><p>This feels different. This feels <em>bright</em>, even though the day is cool and blue and the sky is nothing but drifts of cottony white.</p><p>It’s possible that Jon is smiling faintly as he circles around behind the big shape sprawled out in a snowbank, wet hair splayed out around him. Agen is perfectly still, and in other circumstances Jon might worry about attacks and grievous wounds and boneless near-death sprawls, but even in the dimness of the snowy forest he can see the rise and fall of Agen's chest. And, more than that, Jon's found over the years that this is a habit that can't be broken by colds, exasperated Masters, the training of padawans, or good sense.</p><p>Pausing at the edge of the snowbank, Jon casts a glance up at the sky, judging how much longer the storm will last, and then tugs his hood down a little further over his face and steps up into the deep snow, his worn old boots sinking more than he expects. It’s not quite the graceful approach he had hoped for, and he has to laugh a little at himself as he clambers up, sways, and gives in to gravity, sitting down hard in the snow right next to Agen.</p><p>Without opening his eyes, Agen hums softly, and says, “Very loud wildlife on this planet. I feel that I should be alarmed.”</p><p>Jon considers this for a moment, then scoops up a handful of powdery snow and shakes it out over Agen's face, sprinkling him liberally with the fine flakes. There's no immediate protest, no reaction except one dark eye slitting open, full of judgement.</p><p>The effect of the glare is rather lessened by the fact that he looks like he’s been dusted with icing sugar.</p><p>Smiling, Jon folds his legs beneath himself, leaning back on his hands, and raises his face to the falling snow. The edge of his hood is in his eyes, and he hesitates a moment, but—Agen is the only one here, and Agen has certainly never shied away from him showing his face. Swallowing, he pushes the hood back, then turns his face fully up to the sky, closing his eyes at the soft, cold kisses of the falling flakes.</p><p>“You seem to have a habit for picking planets in their winter months,” he says, because after a dozen meetings in various snow-covered landscapes, he’s willing to call it a pattern and not just a coincidence.</p><p>“I wasn’t assigned this one,” Agen says with dignity. “Master T'ra passed it on and left me no choice in the matter.”</p><p>Given that T'ra is the one who trained him, and that she knows very well Agen's preferences, Jon just hums, amused by the thin defense. “But the others you picked,” he says.</p><p>Agen has no argument there, just disgruntled silence, and Jon ducks his head to hide a smile, reaching to smooth over the patch where he disturbed the snow. After a moment’s hesitation, he drags his finger through it, drawing a sharp angle. It looks almost like a horn, and after a moment he adds another, traces out the pattern of Agen's horns in the snow beside him without having to look back at the real thing. He knows the map of them by heart at this point.</p><p>The perfect silence of the falling snow lingers for a long moment, and then there's a faint huff. Agen sits up, shedding powder, and his hair looks as white as Master Rancisis’s. There are even flakes clinging to his lashes, and Jon feels like his heart gives a slow, deliberate turn in his chest, enough to make him catch his breath.</p><p>“And you?” Agen asks, fixing his attention on Jon. “Why are you here? Surely a mission to investigate sightings of a rare beast doesn’t require the Council to assign me backup.”</p><p>Jon hasn’t actually spoken to the Council in…months. Potentially a full year at this point. He pauses, trying to remember, but gives it up after a moment. The Council doesn’t supersede the Force, and the Force is what he follows.</p><p>“I was called here,” he says. “But I feel no danger. You're hunting something?”</p><p>Something in the straight line of Agen's spine unbends a little with the weight of relief, and he inclines his head. “The locals have reported sightings of an ancient creature that supposedly has great affinity for the Force. It hasn’t been seen since the last war with the Sith Empire.”</p><p>“The Xicin,” Jon says quietly, because his Master spent time here, early in his days as her padawan, searching for any sign of it. “Legend has it that they follow the moons across the sky, but only let people see them when the snows come early and the rivers freeze before the first eclipse.”</p><p>Agen blinks, once, long and slow. There are still snowflakes on his lashes. “Those conditions may have been met,” he says after a pause. “The Ghemi are currently undertaking vast environmental projects to restore their planet. This is the first natural winter in many centuries.”</p><p>Jon looks out into the forest, watching the golden leaves sway and drop their snow. “I can tell,” he says. “This world feels…brighter.”</p><p>Kinder, in a way. Jon remembers polluted rivers from his time here as a child, barren ground. The Force had hummed with despair, twisted out of alignment. Now, though, it’s quiet, steady. Joyful.</p><p>When he glances back, Agen is watching him, something Jon can't read on his face. “You plan to stay?” he asks.</p><p>Jon hesitates, glancing away. Considers instinct, want, and—it’s always harder to balance when Agen is involved, but he knows himself. Knows the Force and how it leads him, and the fact that right now, it isn't.</p><p>“Yes,” he says. “I might be able to help you find the Xicin.”</p><p>“You may be the best to help,” Agen allows, and his voice is warm. Amused, but something else too, and it makes Jon duck his head, not able to physically meet his gaze.</p><p>“They're—supposed to be beautiful,” he manages. “Creatures of the deep snow and pure Force energy. Madame Nu has been looking for evidence of them since she was a child.”</p><p>“She would like to see you again,” Agen says gravely. “I know you do not visit Coruscant, but you should arrange to meet her. I believe she worries, particularly after you were reported dead three years ago.”</p><p>Jon winces, but nods, because he means to. But—he follows the Force, and sometimes there’s no time at all between tasks. “I will,” he tells Agen, and means it as a promise to keep.</p><p>Agen inclines his head in return, amusement in his face, and then rises to his feet, offering Jon a hand. “If you are staying, there is a cabin at the edge of the forest the senator lent us. We will have to share a room, but you are welcome to stay.”</p><p>Jon's face feels hot, but he slides his hand into Agen's, lets Agen pull him to his feet and out of the snowbank. “If you're sure,” he says, helpless to refuse, and Agen's smile is small but still makes something in Jon's chest go loose and warm.</p><p>“Of course,” he returns, and leads the way deeper into the weighted hush of the forest.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The cabin is a small thing, set back in the bend of the frozen river, shadowed by the mountains above it and the gold-and-silver trees around it. Jon hesitates a little at the edge of the trees, but Agen simply opens the door and steps in, leaving it wide behind him. Something akin to nervousness itches across Jon's skin, as if he’s unsure of his welcome even though Agen has never been anything <em>but</em> welcoming, no matter how often Jon seeks him out. But—</p><p>He takes one step, then another. Nothing shatters, nothing warns him away, and Jon takes a breath and mounts the two wide stone steps up to the cabin, then slips in and closes the door behind him.</p><p>Agen doesn’t smile, but his hands are gentle as he reaches for Jon, as he slides the robe from his shoulder and hangs it on a hook. “I'm glad you decided to remain on Ghem,” he says and across the room something rustles. It makes Jon start, but before he can take more than a step back, Agen reaches out and catches his elbow, holding him up.</p><p>“Jon,” he says, deliberate, calm. “I would like you to meet someone.”</p><p>Another rustle, and what Jon had taken to be a pile of blankets in an armchair before the fire stirs. A small foot just misses a cup set carelessly on the floor, and the quilts spill over the side, revealing—</p><p>“Master!” a Human boy says, pleased, as he struggles upright. He’s…very small. A new padawan, barely out of the crèche, with a shock of straight dark hair and a bright smile. There's no hesitation as his eyes fall on Jon; he slides out of his chair and takes a few trotting steps towards them, and Agen smiles and reaches for him.</p><p>“Tan,” he says, soft. Jon has always known that Agen loves to teach, that for all his brusque nature he loves children and they adore him in return. But—Jon has never seen him with one of his padawans before, and­. It’s striking.</p><p>“Jon,” Agen says, and smooths a hand over Tan’s hair, stepping behind him to lay his hands over the boy’s shoulders. “My padawan, Tan Yuster. Tan, this is Master Jon Antilles.”</p><p>“Oh,” Tan says, and there's true delight spreading over his face. “Master Kolar talks about you all the time, Master Antilles! He likes you a lot!”</p><p>Agen freezes, perfectly emotionless, perfectly <em>caught</em>. His eyes flicker down to Tan, then back up to Jon, and—</p><p>Well. This, Jon thinks, feels rather like <em>hope</em>.</p><p>“Tan,” he repeats, and there's amusement rising, warm and effervescent. He bows to Tan, and says, “I like him quite a lot as well, padawan.”</p><p>Tan’s smile is sweet. “Good,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world that someone would appreciate Agen. And—it should be, Jon thinks. Tan has the right of it. “Are you going to help with our mission, Master Antilles?”</p><p>The flicker of Agen's gaze back to Jon is wariness, braced for disappointment. Braced for Jon to change his mind, say no, but—</p><p>He forgets that Jon goes where the Force leads him, follows its pull, and here, now, it offers him nothing but peace and <em>rightness</em>.</p><p>“Yes,” Jon promises Tan, but he holds Agen's gaze, doesn’t waver. “For as long as you need me, I plan to stay.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
  <ul>
    <li>
        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29448798">[Podfic] Yet chased by a whisper, a sigh, a breath</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuurei/pseuds/Yuurei">Yuurei</a>
    </li>
  </ul>
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